Prisonlock for lack of a better name
by thesilencewearswestwood
Summary: AU John Watson has been wrongly imprisoned, during his stay he makes an unlikely friend out of his snarky, smart arse of a cell mate; Sherlock Holmes. Eventual Johnlock. Possibly MorMor in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

I don't have a computer as of right now so I've been typing this on my dad's iPad. Also, not a writer! So ridicule all you want I just had a creative flow and needed to get this out. Not sure if it'll even get finished. But enjoy the ride anyway.

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Chapter 1

"Open cell block 221A," the mechanical female voice sounded over the PA followed by a series of metal clanks and bangs. A long, white, barred gate slid open, freeing up the next hallway of cells. The tall, neatly trimmed guard with graying black hair marched (more like shuffled) a small, limping, muscular man with an injured shoulder down the corridor and past the rabid prisoners.

"Open cell block 221B," came the woman's voice again when they reached the next set of barred doors. The white metal grid slid open loudly, and the two men proceeded down the tiled floor. The guard stopped the short limping man at the third door on the cell block. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before the door gave a loud sigh and heavy clunk.

"John Watson, welcome home." the taller man said with a smirk and shoved John roughly inside. The room consisted only of a rickety aluminium bunk-bed and a grimy steel toilet. John sighed as a painful realization washed over him 'Home,' he whispered. A sudden blur of black and ivory, coupled with a blunt pain in his back took the blonde man by surprise.

"Bloody- Fuck!" he yelped as a tall dark haired figure pinned him to the bars of the cell door. "What the hell, do you think you're doing?!"

"Who... are you..." he hissed "the warden promised me solitude."

"John Hamish," he gave the looming man a forceful shove backwards and stood up straight "Watson."

John eyed the stranger closely; tall, thin, but a hidden power in his slim muscles. He slunk back to his bunk cursing. John was breathing hard when he noticed he was bleeding through his jumpsuit. He unzipped it about half way down to inspect his bullet wound; it was bleeding through gauze and jumpsuit the same.

"Fuck, shit-" John's shoulder was throbbing painfully as he peeled back the wrapping. "Dammit, I broke a fucking stitch."

He slid down to the floor, the skinny dark haired man perked his head up and eyed his bleeding cell mate.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked quietly.

"A- Afghanistan..." John looked up, puzzled "Sorry, how did you-"

The thin man rolled over quickly cutting John off.

The two men sat in silence for a long while. John's heart was racing and his face had gone pale.

"So," John finally broke the emptiness, clutching his shoulder. "What's your name then, ay?"

"Interesting," the other man looked up "An army doctor. Why would and army doctor be in prison?" He mused.

"I... how-" John furrowed his brow "What are you playing at?"

The dark haired man popped up suddenly, sitting back on his heels in front of John and steepling his fingertips.

"Sherlock Holmes," He said holding out a wary hand.

"Captain-" John dropped off, a pained expression played across his face. He gripped Sherlock's hand "Er- Watson. John. Watson."

"Yes, so you mentioned," he said bluntly.

Sherlock's eyes moved swiftly over John's face and torso. John retracted his hand, staring skeptically at the strange man.

"Um, yes. What are you doing?" John asked, a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

No answer.

"Sher- GAH!" John squealed when Sherlock ripped the army doctor's hand away from his shoulder.

"A bullet wound... fascinating. Why lock up a war hero-" Sherlock thought aloud "unless-"

Sherlock looked up to see John's terrified expression.

"I- erm..." Sherlock cleared his throat and moved his hands away "Sorry... John, your story is of a slight mystery to me and I must admit that's not a confession I make often, please do indulge me in your no doubt fascinating tale."

John looked flustered at the apparent intelligence of the man sitting in front of him.

"Um-" John started

"Though quite quickly," Sherlock said impatiently "and don't be boring."

"I was a- no..." John stopped abrubtly "Not until you tell me how you knew I was in Afghanistan. Please tell me it wasn't in the papers."

Sherlock scoffed "Paper indeed. I can read your military career in your face and your hair, and your medical experience in your unwillingness to call a guard when I- you busted your stitches."

"How?" John was intrigued.

"Your haircut, and the way you hold yourself says military. Your face is tanned, but no tan above your wrists, you've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your wound, much to powerful a gunshot to be police issue. Bullet caliber appears quite small, so automatic weapon. Your specific knowledge of what to do in event of excessive bleeding or an increase of pain says medical training. Where do you get a sun tan and a deep near crippling gunshot wound of an automatic origin? Afghanistan or Iraq."

John sat stunned for a moment "Brilliant!" He said at last.

"You think so?" Sherlock look overly surprised. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

John smiled a bit and even risked a chuckle. Sherlock smiled too, he hadn't smiled in months, not since a prisoner from cell block 221C fell off the barbed fence in a feeble attempt at escape.

"So. You were saying?" John's face darkened, and his eyes fell.

"I'm a- I was, a captain. Formerly, Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. We were stationed in an American military base in Afghanistan. Well-" He cut off his color drained from his face and his eyes shimmered with potential tears. "I was called off the premise to tend to some fallen comrades about 2 miles out. Half of our regiment stayed in the base with a group of Americans and about ten of us loaded into the jeeps. We were almost a half mile out when two of the jeeps struck land mines, and then the third crashed into the wreckage. I was in the second jeep with three others... then I was trapped under a junior officer and multiple parts of a ruined jeep, shrapnel had peppered my right leg and I could hear my sergeant calling out to any survivors. Then next thing I know there is an enormous explosion of to my right and a hot pain in my left shoulder. I can no longer hear my sergeant, just a piercing ring in my left ear."

John wiped his face, sweat now beading up on his forehead "I woke up in a ditch and no memory of how I got there. My leg was swollen and puffy from the shrapnel wounds and my shoulder was dislocated and caked with blood. I still couldn't hear anything but ringing, and felt nothing but stabs of pain but I managed to crawl out of the ditch. I was about 50 or 60 feet from the wrecked jeeps.

'This is Captain Watson, of the fifth fusiliers.' I spoke into my radio 'there's been a horrible accident.' But from what I could hear it was nothing but static on the other end. I tried to clean myself up as much as possible but most of my medical supplies were either missing or ruined, but it wasn't too much longer until I heard the faint whip of a chopper's blade. There were two of my superiors and another army doctor from the base and they air lifted me and about three other bodies out of the ruins."

Sherlock's face contorted into confusion and sorrow.

"There was-" John broke off, eyes glossy and misted "There was a bomb planted in the American's military base, and through a whole series of fucked up events I, and the three other survivors, were blamed for the whole debachel! The transmittion sent from our comrades was lost in the explosion and presumably all of us in the jeeps were escaping the bomb that we supposedly knew about. I was taken to court, and lost my last appeal."

John was nearly yelling now, and going quite red in the face "Me! A bloody M.D.! Accused of blowing up an American military base!"

Sherlock stood up quickly, without uttering a sound and laid back in his respective bunk, re-steepling his fingertips. John sighed trying to calm himself down, but with no avail. Tears silently tipped over the edge and dribbled down his face, he bowed his head in defeat, ashamed.


	2. Chapter 2

****Still using my dad's ipad for this so expect errors and late updates for now until i can get my computer fixed (and even then you can expect errors). Also working on a Surf-lock story so that takes up a little time too. though i haven't posted it yet. Um.. any glaring mistakes or something you think i should change feel free to review. otherwise, enjoy****

**(and if anyone wants to help beta this or whatever the terminology is that would be fantastic) **

Chapter 2

John found out pretty quickly that he couldn't climb up the aluminium ladder attached to the bed's frame, and as a result, spent his first night in prison clutching his shoulder, and lying on the cold floor. John lay there watching the light sink away as the sun set outside of the small window.

"Sherlock," John said with a grunt when the sunlight had gone, leaving the cell dark "Why are you in here? You seem too smart to be in prison."

John heard Sherlock chuckle, then he rolled over to face the injured man. He stared at John, his dark grey eyes glinting in the faint moonlight that leaked through the window. "I was on a case in London, involving drug runners... the details aren't important..."

"Oh. So, a case? You were a detective?"

"Still am. Being in prison doesn't stop me from needing stimulation, if anything it increases my requirement for it. It's so booooring here." and with that the detective flopped onto his back once more.

* * *

"Oi! Off the floor Mr. Watson!" the guard shouted rapping loudly on the bars with his night stick.

"Doctor." John corrected quietly. John groaned as he sat up, still clutching his blood covered shoulder.

"Holmes!" the guard shouted "Meal time! The warden's not having you miss anymore of them, he made that very clear."

"Sod," Sherlock grumbled as the guard unlocked the door.

John was leaning on the wall heavily to ease the pressure on his right leg.

"You too Watson!" the guard snapped. John pushed off the wall and hobbled out of the cell followed by a grumpy, disheveled Sherlock. Sherlock eyed his limping companion impatiently, grabbed him by the wrist, and swung John's arm over his shoulders. John yelped in surprise but did nothing to cease the helping hand.

All the cells they passed had already been emptied and the cell block separators open. There foot steps echoed through the empty space until they neared the cafeteria and could hear the ruckus being made.

Sherlock lead John to the queue to wait for his food.

"Thanks," John said as Sherlock lifted his arm off his shoulders.

"Don't think me, Todd is my own private guard, if you had taken an eternity I would have had to wait for you." but Sherlock had a small smile threatening to spread across his face as John slowly followed him through the line.

"Why do you need your own guard?" John said half smiling himself.

"Oh, I'm one of the warden's favorites," Sherlock answered accepting a rather slimy scoop of what appeared to be spinach... or perhaps green beans. "When he's in trouble or has a problem, which is always, he consults me."

"So you help the warden get out of his holes?" John asked laughing "What do you get out of it?"

"Mostly? Stimulation, but I also receive weeks off my sentence."

"That seems fair," John shrugged taking a gray slab of, presumably, meat.

John followed Sherlock slowly to a back table that was empty, maybe even avoided, and sat down across from him. Sherlock, having reached the table long before John, looked up surprised.

"What?" he said his surprise turning to forced annoyance.

"What, what?" John said looking confused.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Who else am I supposed to sit with?" John scrunched up his face.

"You're supposed to sit with one of your ex-army cronies," Sherlock pointed lazily over to a table of tan, scarred, well postured men.

John turned his nose up at the prospect "I'm nothing like them."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not criminal," John murmured angrily "I wouldn't fit in over there, nor would I like, too."

Sherlock's face relaxed and he went back to poking at the unappetizing array of food on his tray.

"Why, do you not want me sitting here?" John pried.

"I don't care what you do. I don't know you." an expression unlike anything John had ever seen danced across Sherlock's face "and you don't know me."

"You knew me well enough last night when all you had were two glances in my general direction."

Sherlock cracked another smile "I suppose."

"No, but you're right, I don't know anything about you." John remarked "So, start talking."


	3. Chapter 3

****thanks to my beta Pigfartsnut. I'm sorry but after this chapter updates will be sloooow because of reasons****

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pigfartsnut

**A loud bell sang out through the mess hall signaling the end of breakfast. John began to stand up but was stopped by Sherlock.**

"**Sit," Sherlock said releasing his grasp on John's arm. "We have the special privilege of being escorted by dear old Mr. Todd."**

"**Oh, okay," John sat back down, his tray echoing in the empty room. "So, as I was saying, I was a student at St. Bartholomew's in London-"**

"**Oh?" Sherlock said, an excited glow leaking into his eyes .**

"**You know St. Bart's?"**

"**Yes, I often ran experiments there when I was in need of laboratory conditions, mostly for my cases."**

"**Small world," John grinned, and Sherlock returned it wholeheartedly.**

"**Well, not entirely small, in fact it is the largest thing you will ever see..."**

**Heavy footsteps broke through his words and Sherlock grabbed the two trays and deposited them at the kitchen window.**

"**Here to collect you, Holmes," Todd said, leaning on one of the tables. Sherlock stooped and offered his shoulder once more to the shorter man.**

**When they had returned to the cell, Sherlock quickly dropped John's arm.**

"**Thank you," John said quietly.**

"**Come on Sherlock," the guard said impatiently.**

"**Where are you going?" John asked, a twinge of worry and fear leaked into his voice. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards.**

"**Warden requires his presence, Mr. Watson," the guard said mockingly.**

"**Oh, I see," John said slowly. Sherlock made an attempt to give John a reassuring smile and then let himself be led away.**

"**Mr. Watson," the guard added quickly. "A guard will be by soon to take you to the medical wing, I noticed your shoulder was looking a bit... um... rugged."**

* * *

"**John Watson?" A younger light haired man peered in as he unlocked the door, "I was told to talk you to the medical wing."**

**John stood from his seat on Sherlock's bed and limped, quite pathetically, across the small cell.**

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"**Mid-day meal time!" The phrase echoed down the hall way of the cell block followed by multiple cell block doors clanking and sighing as guards opened them. Many guards passed, but just seemingly overlooked John's cell. John, who had been returned to his cell only moments ago, had new gauze and a sling that he had sweet talked the nurse into giving him.**

**John had taken a seat on Sherlock's bottom bunk, when a loud bang brought John out of his thoughts. In strode Sherlock looking unhappy and slightly annoyed. John caught Sherlock's eye and his angered expression seemed to falter at the sight of John lying across his bunk. John's face turned red and he sat up, clearing his throat. Sherlock held out a hand to the blond man. John looked from his hand to Sherlock, and back again before grabbing it and hauling himself off the mattress. The guard just rolled his eyes and trailed the two men to the cafeteria.**

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"**One hour, forty-five for yard time" was broadcasted over the PA. John followed Sherlock's lead this time and stay put until Todd showed up to take them to where they needed to be.**

"**So, you've a brother involved heavily in the government?" John asked with interest. Sherlock nodded solemnly. "Couldn't he help you out of this?" **

"**I suppose he could," Sherlock said scowling at the prospect of his brother helping him.**

"**Oh," John murmured. "I see, sibling rivalry."**

**Sherlock half glared, half smirked at his companion, a frightful sight to say the least.**

"**Yard time, gentlemen," a voice boomed as he walked over to the table. "Grab your bitch and we'll head out."**

**Sherlock's face was suddenly rigid and stoic, John looked up with shock spread across his face and color creeping into his features. The taller man rose from his seat and went around the the table. He wrapped John's arm around his shoulder and they trotted off toward the court yard.**

"**Does he really think I'm your bitch?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, making him shiver.**

"**I believe that was a joke," Sherlock said. Looking ahead, a stony expression settled across his face. John just nodded and let the subject drop.**

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**John squinted at the bright yellow light that shone over the dusty fenced-in field. Sherlock led John over to a rusty bunch of bleachers overlooking an unkempt football field where ten or eleven inmates were kicking an orange ball back and forth down the yard. Sherlock helped John sit on the ground and joined him as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.**

"**What are we doing down here?" John asked.**

"**We are waiting," Sherlock took a drag and continued, "I am smoking."**

"**Waiting for what?" he asked as he leaned back on a metal post.**

"**Something interesting." Sherlock said, shrugging.**

**They waited, but in the end nothing did happen. Todd came to fetch them and returned them to the cell block where they played rummy on Sherlock's bunk until dinner.**

"**Goodnight boys," Todd said grouchily, after he locked up. "Tomorrow's my day off, Sherlock so you have to deal with Martin. Please don't make him cry again."**

**Sherlock sighed but didn't argue. John began to settle into his make shift bed on the floor when Sherlock came over to him and held out his hand.**

"**What?" John asked suspiciously**

"**Hand."**

**John hesitated, but grasped Sherlock's hand. When John was upright Sherlock whipped around quickly and in almost one graceful movement, leaped into the top bunk. John stood in for a short moment before half limping, half stumbling into the bottom bunk.**

"**Thank you," John said turning over on his side. He buried his nose in the pillow, it smelled like Sherlock. John hummed as he breathed in the a pleasing mix of cigarettes and coffee.**

**Sherlock poked his head over the edge of the bed "What... are you doing."**

**John nearly jumped out of the bed in surprise and embarrassment. His face went very red and he was glad for the darkness in the room.**

"**Er... nothing," John bit his lip. "I... your pillow... it reminded me of a, er, song."**

**John winced at the lameness of his excuse. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but John could see from the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that he was smiling. Which, made him burn even redder. Sherlock's gaze engulfed John and a shiver ran down his back.**

"**Okay," said Sherlock, and then retracted his head. John rolled into the pillow and groaned quietly.**

**Sherlock smiled to himself.**


	4. Chapter 4

****little Martin Crieff cameo I popped in there hope you don't mind and if you do you can leave now. But sorry it took so long I've been dealing with a lot of shit as of late plus using the iPad is a pain in the ass.****

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"Uh- um. Hello? I- uh, S-Sherlock?" called the stuttering voice of Martin. "It's, um... Breakfast."

Sherlock groaned and turned over to glare at Martin.

"Stop it," Martin said, almost forcefully. "I mean it Sherlock!"

Sherlock rolled off the top bunk and landed with a low thud. "John," Sherlock cooed.

"I'm coming," John grumbled.

Sherlock sat on the side of the bed and wrapped John's arm around his shoulders. Martin fumbled awkwardly with the keys when the door finally heaved open. The two men shuffled slowly down the corridor followed by Martin, who occasionally tried to make gawky chit chat.

"Martin, don't make small talk. It's not really your area."

* * *

"Cell block 221B has the showers," was announced over the PA.

John and Sherlock were escorted to the showers by Martin, who continued to interrupt John's attempt at conversation.

"I- um. I'll come get you in 20 minutes..." Martin stumbled over his words before, and in turn, stumbled out the door.

"How could they make that man a prison guard?" John joked as he pulled off his white undershirt.

"Honestly, he's quite assertive normally," said Sherlock doing the same and slumping down onto the bench.

"So what's different?" John said, slipping off his jumpsuit.

"Me." Sherlock couldn't help but stare. John chuckled as he removed the last of his clothes and heaved himself off the cool metal. Sherlock reconnected with John and gave a half smile when he felt John tense up. They shuffled awkwardly to where the shower heads hung; Sherlock dropped John's arm and moved to his own shower tap.

"I- erm..." John cleared his throat,. "Thanks."

Sherlock smirked as he reached out and flicked on his water. The showers roared to life, and soon the room was filled with steam. Sherlock looked over at his new companion; John was slouched, hunched, against the wall as the hot water ran down his badly injured body. A low groan escaped John's lips as the liquid turned his tan skin red, and his red skin purple.

The cuts and nicks almost glowed red, and Sherlock could swear he saw the pulse of blood as it rushed to the affected areas. The water that pooled around John's feet was tinged an orangey-red, and was almost gruesome as it circled the drain.

"John?" Sherlock's voice faltered just slightly.

"Hm?" John's voice was low and rough. "M'fine, it's just... really hot."

Sherlock almost laughed at his choice of words, and the color that flooded John's already red face.

"Uh, hello?" the small nervous voice of Martin echoed in the shower room. "Mr. Watson? The, um, the medical wing told me to bring you these."

"Yes, fine," John huffed, "just leave it on the bench."

"Yeah, okay," Martin squeaked.

John shut the water off and leaned up against the tiles. John's skin seemed to leak out steam as the hot water dripped off his body. Sherlock ran a hand thought his hair and cut off his shower, he then linked arms with John again and led him to where Martin had previously left the new gauze.

Sherlock dried off, eyeing John as he nursed his wounds. Sherlock straightened up, pulling on a clean undershirt.

"John," Sherlock hesitated, "how did it feel?"

John pulled the gauze tight and pinned them closed, he sighed. "It didn't feel great."

A quiet understanding passed through the both of them, and they spent the majority of the evening in a comfortable silence.

* * *

"Well, you two certainly are quiet," chirped Martin as he dropped them off after yard time. Sherlock shot him a dirty look and returned Martin to his stuttering, bumbling old self"Er, r-right, um, um right. I-I'll be back for... For dinner... Ok..."

As Martin awkwardly skirted away, Sherlock sighed and lowered himself onto John's bunk. John's head hit Sherlock's shoulder almost immediately out of fatigue. Sherlock's eyes widened as he watched John let out a long sigh into his shirt, and then he suddenly flopped backwards onto the lumpy mattress.

"You should rest," Sherlock's eyes wandered lazily over John's still slightly damp body. "I'll rouse you when the idiot returns."

John grunted in reply, and Sherlock smiled softly to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

****A bit short and a lot late I apologize. My dad found out I took his iPad and let loose his reign of terror. So I didn't have a computer/time to type this up. I mean I have like ten chapters right now already written but they're on this packet of paper that's falling apart... And anyway I'm rambling, just read the damn chaper.**

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"You're going to see the warden?" John asked.

"I am." John's face fell slightly. Sherlock frowned; confusion was spelled out on his pale features. "Would you care to come with me?"

John's head snapped up, "Could I?" He looked between his cell mate and Todd.

"I don't care," Todd shrugged, uninterested.

It had been two weeks since John had been walked down the hallway and through the gates of cell block 221b. His leg making almost a full recovery, he could now navigate the corridors without the aid of Sherlock; and he hated it. He missed the willowy strength, and fit frame that Sherlock carried himself on.

'Merely transport!' Sherlock had said 'A vessel with which to carry the brain.'

"Well?" Sherlock said impatiently, snapping John from his thoughts.

"Err, yes," John padded over clumsily.

* * *

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!" the warden's voice was deep and deafening as it echoed through the cheap office walls.

"Warden," Sherlock addressed him with his stony composure "what is it this time? Misplaced your jacket? Had your wallet stolen?"

John snorted under his breath, the warden's face reddened with embarrassment.

"Ah? No, not this time," he cleared his throat "one of our transport vans have gone missing, all but one of the prisoners are accounted for."

Sherlock sighed heavily.

"I'll need the check and sign out sheets for all the van yards from two days before the incident, to now." Sherlock's voice wove and wound around his words in a graceful dance of tongues and lips, low pitch and high arches. John's jaw hung slightly ajar in amazement.

The warden left the room in search of the files that would no doubt take him an unreasonable amount of time. Sherlock slumped into the wooden chair across from the warden's desk.

"How does a prison lose a transport van?" John asked incredulously; Sherlock glanced up at John.

"It wasn't lost," he said in a bored tone "It's broken down in the country side, obviously."

"How-"

"Surely it's obvious."

"It's not obvious to me." John quirked an eyebrow up at the dark haired man. Sherlock sighed for what seemed like the tenth time in the last hour.

"One of the prisoners from cell block 221c was sent out for transport to upper Scotland to await trial. While driving through the Scottish country side they must have broken down. There may possibly be no signal for their mobiles, or out of radio range; anyway I'm sure if they sent someone up to Newtonmore or somewhere close, they'd find their van and unaccounted-for prisoner." Sherlock looked up to where john was standing, a look of shock and awe spread across his face.

"It's fantastic," John looked as if he'd witnessed a miracle.

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," both of them beamed.

"Ahem," the warden cleared his throat, bringing the two men from their stupor. "Found most of the sign out sheets and the parking rosters-"

"Yes, thank you, but those will be unnecessary," Sherlock cut in waving a dismissive hand, and standing up "send a team of peelers out to Newtonmore and I'm sure you'll find your missing van and its precious cargo."

"Err- right," the warden sat in his desk chair and picked up the phone, John was dragged out of the office by Sherlock and they waited for Todd.

"Looks like you gave him a right good fright," John chuckled.

"He's used to it," Sherlock grinned back.

"These cases don't seem terribly stimulating," John pointed out.

"That was one of the good ones," Sherlock huffed "the warden is an idiot. He once summoned me when he had misplaced his keys."

John's head was thrown back in laughter, and Sherlock snorted out a muffled laugh in turn. Sherlock and John's giggling resonated throughout the shoddy office space.

"Come on lovebirds," Todd's condescending voice broke up their loud laughter, and caused John to turn a bright red. Sherlock pretended not to notice, the only giveaway being the slight smirk plastered on his face.

As Todd led them down the passage to the yard their hands brushed several times, making John burn brighter and brighter each time. Sherlock's face was stoic as he seated himself under the bleachers, and looked on toward the football players. John sat down next to him and bumped his shoulder playfully. Sherlock smiled softly down at him.


	6. Chapter 6

pigfartsnut ** since all of you waited so patiently for that last chaptermad wrote you more. I'm hoping to have amother chapter up tomorrow if I can swing it. But we'll see. Not for children under three, choking hazard. Batteries not included.**

pigfartsnut

* * *

It was an exceptionally chilly night one week, and the thin blankets the prison issued weren't doing anything to keep John warm. In the last couple weeks he'd been in prison, John had lost a lot of weight; mostly due to prison food and the occasional bout with his ever fluxing depression.

Sherlock wasn't much of a help, him not fully understanding... people; however upon hearing John's quiet sobs emanating from the bunk below that cold night, Sherlock decided he would try something new. Having grown quite attached to the simple man who stumbled, quite literally, into his midst some months ago, Sherlock climbed down the ladder trying his best to keep the rickety bed as still as possible, and slid silently under the many covers on John's bed.

He earned a frightened gasp from the ex-army doctor "What are you doing?" John hissed, trying to sound like he hadn't been crying.

"You're cold," Sherlock said matter-of-factly "and I am providing you with some much needed mutual warmth."

John's eyes misted up again and a tear ran down his left cheek; Sherlock, almost instinctively, reached up and wiped it away with his thumb. John leaned into the slight touch, scooting a little closer to Sherlock. He locked eyes with John, before John's eyes darted to his lips and back. Sherlock took the cue and slid closer still.

Sherlock hesitated and took in the sight of the decidedly beautiful sight that was John Watson. His hair was tousled and the red around his eyes made the blue in his eyes pop. Sherlock had never noticed how attractive John actually was, a strange feeling for the prison detective, as he noticed almost everything.

Sherlock's eyes drifted down John's face and settled on his pink, slightly cracked lips. John darted out his tongue in anticipation, and Sherlock dipped his head slightly, the smaller man hovered close to Sherlock's lips before closing the small gap between them.

A sensation similar to electricity coursed thought the two of them, starting at the lips and ending in the fingers and toes. The kiss was a slow one, and a bit wet from John's tears.

"Please don't cry," Sherlock whispered "it's unnecessary."

John chuckled and caught Sherlock's lips again.


	7. Chapter 7

**So all these chapters are really short. Sorry for getting your hopes up and then it's like eight words. Also really lame. Sorry for the overflowing lameness.**

A loud pang startled John out of his slumber, a cold sweat beading up on his forehead as memories from the battle field flooded from his mind.

"Breakfast time." Todd rapped his nightstick on the bars again, drawing John from his thoughts. Sherlock grumbled and hugged John's upright form tighter. A smiled that said 'so-called-it' danced across Todd's face as John pried the slender arms from his middle. John stood up from the bunk and pulled on his jumpsuit, trying to ignore Todd and failing.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John asked as they seated themselves under the risers, it was raining slightly.

"Hmm?" he hummed absentmindedly, looking out at the football players that sloshed about in the mud.

"Why... Well, uh, what was that all about last night?"

"You were upset and were in need of comforting," he shrugged, not making eye contact.

"Oh." John's voice oozed disappointment. "A-and you had no other reasons? Ulterior motives?"

John finally caught Sherlock's eye. They studied each other for a second before Sherlock's icy facade melted off his face.

"I-," Sherlock hesitated. "You..."

For once in his life Sherlock's words failed him, and he just stared dumbly at John. The army doctor slid closer and kissed the prison detective on his pink cupid's bow, then pulled away just as quickly.

"I admittedly didn't think you were gay," Sherlock confessed.

"Well, no. I wouldn't say so," John thought for a moment before a smile wrinkled up his features. "I guess I'm 'Sherlock-sexual'."

Sherlock contorted his face at the awful joke, which sent John into rolls of laughter. Sherlock glared at him halfheartedly before yanking him into a kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**sorry, I've had a hard couple of weeks. So writing has been... not my top priority. Plus the iPad is acting really screwy so that discourages me even further. But here is more Prisonlock. Enjoy.**

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"Hey! You're the one slippin' it to that freak, right?" A tall muscular prisoner called out to John, who was seated by himself on the bleachers. Three guys in jumpsuits with the sleeves tied around their waist were walking toward John in a poor attempt at a swagger. John rolled his eyes and turned back to the football players on the scraggly field. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"

"Piss off," John spat at them.

"You know what man, fuck you!" The front guy who spoke before jumped onto the uppermost of the bleachers "You don't talk to me like that you little shit!"

John stood up slowly, and backed his way out of the man's space. The two others were climbing up the bleachers to join the first guy.

"Kick his arse, Rich!" the fatter of the two yelled, and Rich swung a punch at john's head. Before Rich knew what hit him John had him flat on the bleachers, with his nose crushed into the aluminum seat. The two guys rushed at John, the smaller pulled Rich up and the other knocked John senseless, where he then fell off the back of the bleachers and landed with a thud in the dirt.

"Jump him Tony!" Rich yelled at the bigger guy who knocked him down. John felt a heavy force squeeze the air from his lungs, and a dull throbbing spreading through his chest. He got a good look at Tony before a fist blacked out his vision in his left eye. John tried to resist but the bigger man shifted his knees onto John's wrists and went full force onto his face again. He felt a knuckle connect with his right cheek and could feel something wet and warm trickle down to his ear.

John's vision was blurry but he could hear Tony yelling, "Get the fucker off!" then finally the weight shifted off John and he rolled to the left. John could see Sherlock wrestling Tony under the metal frame of the bleachers, and could hear faint shouting coming from the other side of the yard. The shouts got closer and closer, and then John could finally make out three guards rushing in to halt the commotion. Two guards pulled Sherlock from the larger man's wriggling form; the third guard holding off Rich and his other crony just as a fourth and fifth guard come in from the opposite end. The two guards holding Sherlock dragged him back to the prison gates, and a pair of large hands clasped onto John's biceps just as his vision went black.

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John's head bobbed down to his chest, snapping him awake. He took in his unfamiliar surroundings; a dank, metal room with a sweaty mattress and a flickering light bulb.

"Sherlock?" he croaked out, his throat like sandpaper. It was completely silent except for the faint buzzing of electricity. John's face hurt with an immeasurable amount of pain, and his left eye was almost completely swollen shut. He let his body slide down the damp, though it may have just been cold, wall until he was in a laying position.

John wasn't sure how long he lay in the cold room, it could have been minutes, or it could've been days, but eventually he heard the loud slamming of metal doors and heavy footsteps through an empty hallway. The large rectangle door opened slowly revealing a very battered Sherlock, being lugged about by the same two guards from before. Both guards released their grip on Sherlock's arms and let him fall mercilessly to his knees with a sickening thud. The larger guard kicked Sherlock out of the way of the door and slammed the metal closed. John crawled to Sherlock and held his bloody face in his hands. The dark haired man had a split lip and a bloody nose, with a large fist shaped bruise decorating his right cheek.

"Jesus, Sherlock. What happened to you? I thought you had the big guy," John lifted Sherlock's shirt to inspect his ribs and stomach.

"Hmm, it wasn't Tony," Sherlock said, a little blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin "The guards got a little rough."

"What?" John could feel anger welling up in his chest.

"You heard. I'm not repeating myself,"

John sighed and ripped off a large piece of his shirt to dab at Sherlock's cuts.

After John had mostly gotten Sherlock cleaned up as best he could, though he was sure he had a broken nose, he got the taller man to do the same to him. When they were, for the most part, free of blood and both lacking bits of their shirt, they curled up on the dingy mattress together.


End file.
